


when you walk away

by Seito



Series: tick tock, forward and back (time travel fics) [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fix-It, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not A Fix-It, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, look I know these tags conflict but I swear they make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17937941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seito/pseuds/Seito
Summary: They let him go. Dawn came back. Peace returned, Lucis and Insomnia rebuilt. They found friends, found family, even found happiness. A golden era of peace after the long night.Was it worth it?





	when you walk away

**Author's Note:**

> *lays the blame for this fic at Adel's feet*
> 
> (Which is impressive because Adel wasn't even online when this plunny hit me)

They let him go.

They saw their duty, and he to his. Under the rain, slick and wet, the sky crying and lamenting, they held the grounds, held to his most desperate wish and fought and fought, half expecting to die, maybe to join him.

It would have been a good way to go if Ignis was honest with himself.

But no, be it cruel or kind, they survived and dawn came, for the first time in a decade, the sky light up. Even Ignis with his sight robbed could feel the warmth of the sun on his face and couldn’t help the tears that slipped down his face.

“He did it,” Prompto whispered, both elated and broken. A mixture of grief and sadness, a whirlpool of feelings that Ignis could feel swirling inside him.

“Yeah he did,” Gladio said, voice raw.

“Yes,” Ignis said. He closed his eyes and bowed once more in the direction of the king. ‘Thank you, Noct,’ he thought and felt the grief break his heart.

-.-.-

There was no time to mourn, far too much to do. Noctis left them with his most desperate wish, to pick up and continue on where he couldn’t. So they did. They rebuild Insomnia and all of Lucis. It wasn’t a kingdom anymore. No one could bear the thought of another king. Who could hold a candle to everything Noctis stood for?

No one.

So they continued their council of elected leaders that had been born during the darkness. Cor retained his leadership of their Crownsguard/Kingsglaive group. Dave continued to leave the hunters and Holly rounded out the group as the leader of EXINERIS.

Ignis threw himself into helping rebuild. Gladio leant his hand to Cor. Prompto seemed to be everywhere at once, that boundless energy that never seemed to fade.

Slowly but surely, Insomnia returned to its glory. There were people in the streets, living and thriving on the ruins of the city. The sun was greeted with joy, a smile on everyone’s face. They were rebuilding. They were living. It would take generations before the scars of the world of ruin would fade from memory, but no longer was there a generation of children who had never seen the sun before.

Despite Ignis’ best efforts, they built a statue of Noctis.

“It’s a shame you can’t see it, Iggy,” Prompto said.

“It’s a real looker,” Gladio said.

“Dear gods. It looks horrible doesn’t it?” Ignis asked.

“Terrible,” Prompto said, wheezing with laughter. “Noctis would have hated it.”

Prompto’s words sobered the mood, the touch of grief that hadn’t faded, even two years later.

“I miss him,” Prompto said, leaning close to Ignis.

Ignis leaned back, breathing the cherry scented soap that Prompto had obtained from god knows where. “As do I,” he said.

-.-.-

Life never stopped. Time marched forward, relentlessly and stubbornly, without patience. Prompto finally charmed Cindy. He sputtered and flustered his way through their courtship until she finally said yes.

Ignis never pursued that Aranea had hinted at, but she hardly seemed to mind, merely coming and going. She never failed to stop to say hello and Ignis enjoyed her company and let her go, to fly free. It would hardly be fair to her to cage her. Aranea did best when she could go where she wanted, under that blue sky they reclaimed.

Gladio was about to welcome his third child.

“Is something the matter, Gladio?” Ignis asked, handing a bowl of chili to Gladio. Despite, both Prompto and Gladio having settled down, Ignis was far from ever being alone. He spent more time at either of their places, eating dinner, helping around the house and babysitting that he honestly thought about moving out the single apartment he had claimed and splitting his time between their two places.

Certainly, neither Cindy nor Attia complained about the additional help.

“Not much,” Gladio said.

But to Ignis’ sharp ears, he could the discomfort laced in Gladio’s voice. “Gladio,” he said with just a touch of disappointment.

Gladio caved. (‘Hah, still have it,’ Ignis thought.)

“Found out our next kid is going to be a boy,” Gladio said.

“Congratulations,” Ignis said.

“Attia asked if I wanted to name him Noct.”

Ignis staggered, his own bowl of chili nearly slipping from his hand. Gladio caught him, taking the bowl from him, and steadying him.

“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” Gladio said. Now, Ignis picked up the raw grief in Gladio’s voice.

“It’s a good name,” Ignis weakly defended, trying to see the silver lining. It wouldn’t even be the first time. Talcott had taken up being a teacher to the children and his classroom over the years had at least two Noctis every year.

“You know it’s too soon,” Gladio said.

Ignis could barely hold back his own bubble of hysteria and grief. Of course, it was. Seven years and it still felt like yesterday. Sometimes Ignis still dreamt of that night in front of the stairs, in the rain, with the daemons looming behind, and Noctis’ final, last words to them.

“Besides,” Gladio said. “It’s not a flower.”

Well, there was that.

-.-.-

Children grow. Children love their stories, their fairy tales and fantasy.

“Uncle Ignis!”

Ten-year-old Lyco, Prompto’s only son, all but tumbled into Ignis’ arms. It was only years of practice that Ignis wasn’t thrown off balanced by the sudden weight.

“Lyco! You can’t surprise Uncle Ignis like that! He’s blind,” thirteen-year-old Lily, Gladio’s middle child, said.

Children. Sometimes so needlessly cruel, even when they didn’t mean to. In many ways, Ignis was glad he didn’t have children. (He raised one, arguably two, already. That was before you counted the nieces and nephews the others bestowed on him. It was more than enough.)

“Lily said you and dad and Uncle Gladio knew the King of Light!” Lyco said.

“Yes. Your mother knew him too,” Ignis said.

“Was he really cool?” Lyco asked. “Like all the stories. They said he could summon the gods and whoosh! And zap!”

“What! No way,” Lily said. “He was a King! He was regal.”

Ignis felt his heart squeeze that Noctis wasn’t here to meet these children himself. That they knew the stories people talked about in the streets more than the stories that Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio could barely bring themselves to share. He thought of Noctis, turning away vegetables, gleefully jumping every chance to fish, and cat napping the day away and asked himself, who would remember that Noctis, just Noct when they finally passed away?

No. Ignis would correct this.

“He loved to fish,” Ignis said.

“What?” Lyco said. “That’s so like boring. Lame.”

Ignis smiled sadly. “It’s true. Whenever we passed a fishing hole, he would want to stop to fish.”

-.-.-

"How are you doing, Marshal?" Ignis asked.

Cor grumbled. “Age,” he complained.

“I thought you had plans to outlive Cid,” Ignis said, amused.

“Still do,” Cor said. “That old coot held on for many years. Gotta beat him in something.”

Cid had passed away at 89, two years after dawn had returned.

At 85, Cor had at least four more years to go.

“Please don’t die just as soon as you reach 90,” Ignis said, both teasingly and serious at the same time.

Age. Growing old. Ignis knew full well that Cor was talking about. Ignis ached. The acrobatics he could perform when he was younger had stopped over two decades ago. The nasty scar he got from an MT ached on rainy nights.

“I got no intention of kicking the bucket like that,” Cor grumbled.

“And how are you holding up Ignis?” Cor asked, shifting the gears. Age wore down Cor’s body, but his mind was still going strong.

“Oh the same old same old,” Ignis said. He still helped with their government, a democracy that grew more stable with each year. His bundle of nieces and nephews were all grown, getting married themselves or pursuing their careers.

“Hmm, tomorrow is the Festival of the King of Light,” Cor said.

Ignis felt his heart squeeze tight. The Festival of the King of Light. The celebration of Noctis’ bringing back the dawn, the celebration of his death. Ignis grieved, the sharp pain in his chest.

Noctis never got the chance to grow old.

“Still raw, huh?” Cor said.

“Marshal…” Ignis said. He sighed, weary. “It’s been thirty years.” He should be over it, should have let his grief go, should have moved on.

“Could be a 100 and it would still feel like that,” Cor said. “He was your King. It’s something people don’t understand these days, the loyalty that is stronger than any steel.”

Noct was their King.

And _they let him go_.

Cor squeezed Ignis’ shoulder.

“It doesn’t get better, does it?” Ignis asked.

Cor sighed. “It’s been forty years for me since Regis passed. I’ll let you know if it ever stops hurting.”

Cor would live on to 91, the oldest of Regis’ retinue. And the last thing he told Ignis on his deathbed was "No. It doesn't stop hurting."

-.-.-

“It’s so dusty in here,” Prompto said, sneezing.

“Indeed,” Ignis said, pulling out a handkerchief. “Honestly, Gladio. How did you let it this bad?”

“It’s an attic!” Gladio growled. “We don’t exactly clean up here!”

“You should,” Ignis said pointedly.

“We’re just up here to grab the crib,” Gladio said. “It was a perfectly good crib. I can’t see Lily buying a new one when we stored a perfectly good crib up here.”

“I fail to see how I will be of any help,” Ignis said. He had overcome many of his difficulties with his disability, but the simple search and find of anything was something he couldn’t do.

“Moral support,” Prompto chirped.

“Feel free to poke around,” Gladio said. “Who knows what else we stored up over the years?”

Ignis sighed and opened the box next he felt at his elbow. He carefully probed at the items inside, it felt mostly like clothes and came across a small object on the top. Ignis frowned, tracing it with his fingertips, trying to figure out what it was.

“What do you have there, Iggy?” Prompto asked.

“Oh,” Prompto said.

In the same moment, Ignis gasped, “Carbuncle.”

“I haven’t seen that in years,” Prompto said.

“Noctis used to carry it with him all the time,” Ignis said softly.

“A box of his clothes. What little we found,” Gladio said, coming next to Ignis. One of the first things they had done after Ardyn’s defeat, after Noctis’ death, after dawn came back, was to venture into Citadel fully. And still in tact were the things that they, Noct, had left behind before their road trip, expecting to return after the wedding in Altissia.

And with their grief oh so raw, it had all been boxed up and carefully stored over the years.

“I still miss him,” Prompto said, always the most honest of them when it came to their feelings.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, tears in his voice.

“Same,” Ignis said, squeezing Carbuncle in his hands.

Noctis didn’t get the chance to grow old. He didn’t get the chance to see the families Prompto and Gladio raised. He didn’t get to see the ugly statue they build in his honor.

_They had let him go._

“What should we do with it?” Prompto asked.

“Carbuncle should go to Lily,” Ignis said promptly.

“Iggy-,” Gladio started.

“It’s your first grandchild, Gladio,” Ignis said. “A joyous occasion. Carbuncle protects against bad dreams. He shouldn’t sit in a box.”

“If you’re sure,” Gladio said.

“I’m sure. I’ll see her tomorrow so I’ll deliver it then,” Ignis said. He could cling to Carbuncle, but no, better to pass it down to the next generation, a piece of Noct, not King Noctis, that hopefully would continue down their families line. Carbuncle shouldn’t sit in a box.

Noctis wouldn’t have wanted that.

-.-.-

Ignis placed Carbuncle at his bedside, resolved to deliver it to Lily tomorrow morning. He sighed wearily, feeling old beyond his years, sixty-seven and feeling like a hundred and two. Noctis’ passing felt both like an eternity ago and as fresh as yesterday.

“Oh Noct,” Ignis said softly, running his hand over Carbuncle once more.

He pulled off his glasses, placing it next Carbuncle. “Good night, Carbuncle,” he said.

Ignis fell into a restful sleep.

-.-.-

It was raining.

That was the first thing Ignis realized. The awareness of darkness, a different type of darkness, hovered on the edge of his senses. The same darkness from when the world fell to ruin, cast into shadows by Ardyn. Groaning in the distance, the rumbling of Iron Giants, a daemon over 30 years banished.

“Prompto.”

Ignis’ breath hitched. That was a voice he hadn’t heard in thirty-six years.

 _Noct_.

“Gladio. Ignis.”

And judging by the way Prompto and Gladio both choked, Ignis wasn’t the only one reeling from the sudden and unexplained drop back in time.

(Because what else could it be? Why here? Why now? Why this?)

“I leave it to you,” Noctis said. “Walk tall… my friends.”

“No!” the three of them blurted out at the same time.

How many times was Ignis going to relive this? The Astrals already took Noctis from them once, demanded his life for their prophecy. And they demand that Ignis stand by and witness it again?

“Guys,” Noctis said, surprised. Then softer, “It has to be done.”

No.

Damn it all. A new dawn, a new golden era of peace. A daemon free world. The nieces and nephews that Ignis adored from heaven and earth. The families Gladio and Prompto built. The students Talcott taught. The people that Iris and Cor led. Aranea who flew like a free bird.

Ignis knew, he _knew_ , what would Noctis’ sacrifice brought, what they were selfishly demanding, what they were selfishly giving up.

Noctis was their King. The King they swore to serve and protect.

He was their _friend_. Their _**brother**_.

They let him go, once.

_**No.** _

“Guys,” Noctis tried once more again.

The three of them surged forward, grasping Noctis’ hand in a firm grip, locking their fingers over his and holding tight.

“Don’t go,” Prompto begged.

“And if you truly must,” Gladio started.

Ignis finished, “Then let us go _with you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> When you walk away  
>  You don't hear me say,  
>  "Please, oh baby, don't go."
> 
> As someone who firmly believes in friends and family, who was totally sold on this friendship thing for FFXV, the thing that drove me completely bonkers about FFXV's ending was the fact that no one said "No, don't go." That they let Noctis go, let him walk to his death. I can come up with reasons why, could understand the creative decision behind it, but it doesn't mean I have to **like** it. 
> 
> I leave it up to your imagination as to what Noctis chooses in response to their words. 
> 
> Please leave a review on your way out :D


End file.
